


not your damsel in distress

by annadavidson



Series: we can change the whole world (next justice series) [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: AU, DC Comics AU, Gen, Next Generation, Next-Gen, Next-Gen AU, next generation dc comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annadavidson/pseuds/annadavidson
Summary: When she’d ran away from home for a life of crime, she had never expected the Queen name to catch up to her.Prompt: “I’m prepared to keep you as long as I need to. Until I get what I want, you’re mine.”





	

When she’d ran away from home for a life of crime, she had never expected the Queen name to catch up to her. Most of the time when she went out, she was Black Arrow, mask on and looking for something to steal. With her mask off, she didn’t leave whatever abandoned place Rider’s Deck was currently squatting at often. When she did, she usually stayed with her team so this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.

She’d needed to “pick up” parts for her motorcycle. It had gotten damaged in the last firefight she’d been in. Thankfully her way of getting parts was free – _illegal_ but free. Afterwards she’d planned on meeting Cecily at a club, thus the short, skinny little black dress she wore with black heels. Heels weren’t ideal for riding a motorcycle with, but her years of training helped her to manage it.

The club was a hole in the wall kind of place in Coast City. It was frequented by not the nicest of people, but it was just the kind of place that any member of Rider’s Deck would choose to hang out. The chances of running into some hero in civvies was lowered, and if someone was stupid enough to do something that would bring cops, the place had plenty of exits to escape through.

What she hadn’t expected, after getting off her motorcycle and taking her helmet off, was the blunt hit against the back of her head. It was hard enough to knock her out, her vision momentarily swimming before going black. She slumped, caught in a stranger’s arms. The last thing she thought was that Cecily was going to be pissed if she thought she got stood up. She was out for the whole ride. A few times, she groaned, almost coming awake, but a hard slap would knock her out again.

By the time she actually woke up, each memory of being hit boiled and bubbled like lava, heated by anger. She was tied with rope to a metal chair in a plain, dirty room. It was obvious that no one lived there. The lighting was terrible, but she was certain she saw blood splattered on the ground. If she was anyone else, she probably would have been scared. She probably would have begged to be let go. She probably would have cried, praying to a God she wasn’t even sure if she believed in to keep her safe.

But she wasn’t just anyone. She was Olivia Queen. She was the thief known as Black Arrow. And she was her mother’s daughter.

There was a man knelt down in front of her. He looked like nothing more than a pathetic hired gun to her. Maybe he worked for Black Mask or Two-Face. Maybe he even worked for Lex Luthor or Ra’s al Ghul. She vaguely wondered what it was with men and having lame henchmen.

Olivia straightened her back and held her head up, meeting the man’s gaze with fire in her eyes. There were bruises on her face from being slapped unconscious, and she was certain she had one on the back of her head. The rest of her body, to her relief, was untouched. If she’d been touched, none of her captors would have left there alive.

“It seems you’ve finally decided to join us, Ms. Queen,” the man stated with an accent – _Russian,_ maybe.

That struck her with some surprise. She tried her best not to show it. She was used to people being after her alter ego, not the formerly rich, still blonde civilian. It had been a while since someone had cared who she really was.

She did her best to shake off the surprise. “Oh you know how it is – always be fashionably late. If you’re on time, you’re a bore.” Her words came out humorlessly, no trace of a smile on her face. She needed to know why they had taken her, what they had planned for her, but she knew that creeps typically didn’t squeal until you applied pressure, and she wasn’t in the position to do that.

The man chuckled. “Well I’m afraid you’re going to be terribly late, if you had any plans tonight.”

Now Olivia had an attitude, there was no denying that. It was a trait so prided herself on. It stemmed from her mother – a _take no bullshit_ kind of attitude – but it had been grown and nurtured since she had first joined Rider’s Deck. Something her and her teammates had in common was that they didn’t plan anything out. They didn’t wait for a threat to diffuse. They set the bomb off, fired the gun themselves. They provoked. It usually didn’t turn in their favor, but when someone stared you down, sometimes the best thing to do was hold their gaze and grin as if you had the upper hand, as if they were the one tied to the chair.

Her ankles weren’t tied to the chair – that their first mistake. Their second one was keeping her heels on. She slammed her heel down against the man’s foot, right on his toes. The shoes weren’t the boots she wore as Black Arrow, but with enough pressure, she’d learned any heel could be turned into a weapon. The man cursed and moved on instinct to check his foot. She was quicker than him, quicker than he expected her to be. She slapped the side of his head with her foot then promptly kicked him in the face. He stumbled back, sprawling on the floor, looking both shocked and thoroughly pissed.

Another person came up behind her and grabbed her by her hair, yanking her head back roughly. Olivia grit her teeth, a short grunt of discomfort escaping her. The man angrily pushed himself to his feet and stomped back over to her. He visibly faltered as he was met with a wide grin on the young blonde’s face.

 _“You fucking bitch,”_ he sneered, bringing his hand down across her face.

Pain flared in her jaw and cheek, momentarily stunning her. It wasn’t the first time she had been hit – it came with her line of work – but there wasn’t really a way to become _immune_ to a slap unless she suddenly became invulnerable, and that wasn’t likely to happen. The grip on her hair was gone, her head turned sideways from the slap. She worked her jaw for a minute. It throbbed, but she didn’t think it was dislocated or broken. It would bruise, but it wasn’t anything Cecily’s magic couldn’t heal later. Her eyes rose to meet the man’s again, taking in his appearance. He should have worn a mask, she thought, that way she wouldn’t recognize his face, he’d have a better chance of getting away. Once she got free, and she knew she would, she’d make him regret that slap.

She memorized how he looked – his choppy, sloppily spiked dirty blonde hair, the freckles that scattered his face, the scar that sliced diagonally across his lips. If he got away, she made a note to find him. Her teammates would want him, want to make him pay for taking her and hurting her, but she knew they would step back and give her the reigns. She was the one hurt. If Rider’s Deck found him, his fate would be up to her. And a few of her teammates had killed before, and she knew they’d kill again to protect one of their own.

“Listen, I’m prepared to keep you as long as I need to,” he ground out, obviously trying to keep his anger down. It was enough to tell her that they needed her alive since he looked like he wanted to murder her. Whether or not they needed her mostly unharmed was yet to be seen. She didn’t think she wanted to take that risk. “Until I get what I want, you’re mine.”

Olivia’s first instinct was to ask what he wanted, what he hoped to gain from keeping her. If they planned to blackmail her family, they would be in for a surprise. If wasn’t that she thought her family wouldn’t come for her, it was that she knew they would, and they’d bring down the whole might of the “Arrow family” onto this man and his thugs. And as much as she thought she’d enjoy that sight, she wasn’t looking forward to a family reunion. She also found that she didn’t care what he wanted. Whatever it was, it gave him no right to take her, it gave him no right to _hit_ her. In her opinion, though, it gave her every right to hit him.

 _“Listen,”_ she said, her voice coming out calmer than she felt. She wasn’t necessarily scared or nervous, but she logically knew that anything was possible. She could be baiting him into strangling her. Death wasn’t new to her. It was a threat she faced often. She grinned wickedly, a look she had learned from Harvey. “I belong to _no one.”_

He looked like he was going to hit her again, and she decided she was done playing his game. Secret identity be damned, she opened her mouth and _screamed._ At that proximity, he was lucky he didn’t die – he was lucky her canary cry wasn’t as strong as her mother’s. It shoved those in front of her back. They hit the far wall _hard._ Those behind her covered their ears in a pointless attempt to lessen the pain her cry caused. It didn’t work. They were soon on the ground, unconscious with the rest. Hopefully when they awoke, they’d find they had trouble remembering what had happened. She couldn’t bring herself to care too much if they remembered, though. No one would believe them that all some rich brat had to do was scream and they went down.

She glared at the man, unconscious on the ground, and snapped, “Don’t call me a bitch, you _fucking jackass.”_

The ropes that tied her wrists to the chair was the next obstacle. She wondered if she could direct a canary cry at them and break them that way. She worked at her wrists, moving and shimmying, hoping she wouldn’t have to dislocate or break them to get them free. Luckily for her, whoever had hired the thugs hadn’t hired the best in the business _clearly._ She managed to get one wrist free which allowed her to stand up and reach for an unconscious thug, snatching a knife she’d noticed on their belt. She used the knife to cut her other wrist free.

She heard footsteps running toward the door, telling her that the unconscious men and women in the room weren’t the only ones hired. There was a possibility that the footsteps belonged to someone coming to her rescue, but she doubted it. She didn’t need rescuing. She wasn’t some damsel in distress. She gripped the knife firmly and waited for the door to open. She didn’t need saving. She planned on saving herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Like/reblog on Tumblr [here](http://magicrobins.tumblr.com/post/157932793210/im-prepared-to-keep-you-as-long-as-i-need-to).


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